


against the light

by iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: “I’m leaving,” Yang tells Reuenthal one day, blurting the words out even as he holds his chin up defiantly, keeping his gaze steady.where a friends with benefits arrangement goes horribly wrong for the supposed genius of the fpa, yang wenli.





	against the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beingevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingevil/gifts).



> for [chris](http://beingevil.tumblr.com/), my raftmate, as usual, because she wrote beautiful, beautiful [possessive reuenthal au](http://beingevil.tumblr.com/post/175646613222/background-linc-wrote-a-possessivereuenthal-au) for me and i cried joyous tears because no one else will ever write my otp as beautifully as she does.
> 
> uh. this is an au of an au (chris' work) which is again an au of one of my original headcanon aus? lmao. AU-CEPTION. i dunno what's going on anymore
> 
> warning - schonkopf/yang tag is superfluous but it's also present enough that i can't not tag it :< (but to be honest this is 100% dedicated to all the triangle ships where reuenthal always get the short end of the stick. ~~suck it schonkopf!!! i still love u tho~~ )
> 
> ending is a cop out because i couldn't force my brain to produce anything decent. I AM SORRY
> 
> but hey there's ~~ooc~~ soft sad yang, jealous reuenthal and some porn so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

*

“I’m leaving,” Yang tells Reuenthal one day, blurting the words out even as he keeps his chin up defiantly, gaze steady.

Reuenthal turns to look up at him for a moment with a detached sort of curiosity before his eyes slide away again.

“I see,” is all he says eventually after a brief pause, gaze fixed back on his papers, shuffling a few around. There’s no real inflection to his voice and he doesn’t even seem bothered or troubled by Yang’s sudden announcement at all.

Yang sighs, the sound barely audible over the sound Reuenthal’s pen tapping absently against the thick sheaf of papers across his desk. His shoulders droop slightly in disappointment as he turns and makes his way towards the stairs in order to go up to what has been their room for the last couple of months and pack his things.

He hadn’t truly expected Reuenthal to break character and do something outlandish like actually ask Yang to stay. But, Yang’s steps pause for a beat on the staircase, hand clenching on the handrail briefly, he hadn't been able to repress that tiny flutter of hope in his heart that whatever this thing they had was, it had actually meant something to him.

Yang inhales and forces himself to continue up the long winding stairs, shaking his head at his own clueless naivety, feeling bitter. After all, in the end, what could he offer someone like Oskar von Reuenthal?

*

Their relationship is purely physical from start to finish.

With Reuenthal’s handsome features and natural charm, Yang doubts that he has ever been short of eager partners. Yang himself is probably nothing more than another pleasant face and a warm body in Reuenthal’s bed, a dalliance that was never meant to last the test of time.

But to Yang, Reuenthal is his first in everything - his first kiss, his first lover, and ultimately, his first love.

Yang still remembered that first time when they had tumbled into bed together, the tiny moment of startlement when Reuenthal realised that he was completely inexperienced.

Yang had been wearing very little by then, modesty barely preserved by the corner of a blanket across his lower half, biting down on his lower lip in an attempt to stop the embarrassing noises that were intent on escaping from his throat.

Reuenthal had paused and looked up from where he had been kissing his way slowly down Yang’s body, seemingly intent on tasting each and every inch of bare skin.

Yang’s face had burned, he could feel the heat without even touching a finger to his skin, the result of a combination from Reuenthal’s thorough attention and the final scraps of his conscious mind that still retained the ability to feel lingering shame.

“You haven’t done this before,” Reuenthal had said after a moment of consideration and it wasn't a question, as he reached over and skimmed the back of his hand across Yang’s cheek ever so lightly.

Yang had shaken his head once, confirming it, before he tried turning his face away to hide his embarrassed expression in the blankets. Reuenthal had held him still, however, braced above him, his hand pressed against the side of Yang’s face.

They stared at each other like that for a long moment. Reuenthal’s eyes were dark and unreadable but Yang, caught in the moment, had fancied that he could see the flicker of something like gentleness in their depths.

“I promise to make it good for you,” Reuenthal had murmured to him, low, his warm hands sliding over Yang’s too sensitive skin, making him shudder and also ache in anticipation.

That night, when he cried out Reuenthal’s name, hands braced on his firm chest as he rode himself to another exhausting climax, Yang knew that something had definitely changed, but only for him.

*

He returns to Iserlohn without saying goodbye, just up and leaving in the middle of the day, while Reuenthal is away from the house in an important meeting.

After Yang’s announcement, Reuenthal had spent several nights in a row out, only returning in the morning for a fresh change of clothes before he was off again, to work or somewhere else, Yang doesn't have the right to ask anymore if he ever did in the first place.

The final straw had been yesterday when Yang had woken unusually early, just in time to see Reuenthal near the dresser, the top drawer open and it's the first time that Yang’s actually seen him in three days almost.

He had stood there, half dressed, stripping off yesterday’s shirt, which in turn revealed the new love mark just blossoming low on his neck, vivid against pale skin.

It had felt like a punch to the stomach, Yang squeezing his eyes shut quickly and doing his best to pretend like he was asleep and had seen nothing, that he didn't have physical proof that Reuenthal had already replaced him.

 He feels almost like a thief sneaking away from the scene of a crime when he finally leaves his key on the table and closes the door behind himself for the last time. He hurries down the driveway, gravel crunching beneath his shoes as he holds his bag steady in one hand, over to where his loan car waits along the curb of the road outside the tall, imposing gates.

Winter is setting in on Heinessen, and the very air brushing across his cheeks is enough to chill him down to the bone. Yang slides into the creaky leather seat of the old vehicle and when the engine rumbles to life beneath him, he can’t help but think back, remembering another, happier time, when Reuenthal had taken him for a long drive in his sleek new car, out to a hidden lookout.

Reuenthal had kissed him as the sun had set that day, gold and reds threading through his dark hair as he had gifted Yang with one of his rare smiles, pressing him down into the soft leather of the backseat. Reuenthal had been gentle, moving within him slowly, brushing his lips across Yang’s cheeks and fluttering eyelids in a way that was almost sweet as the night fell around them. It had almost felt like they had been making love and not just fucking.

Yang huddles lower in the back seat now, burying the lower half of his face in a deep blue scarf, looped loosely around his neck. It's something he had bought on a whim because it reminded him of the beautiful colour of Reuenthal’s left eye. Reuenthal had even deigned to wear it a couple of times afterward and Yang hadn't been able to help himself from taking it with him on his way out. It even still smells faintly like him, the soft scent of sandalwood filling Yang’s senses when he inhales.

He hasn’t seen Reuenthal for one day, and he already misses him like a phantom limb.

*

Iserlohn hasn't changed at all and it feels like every member of his fleet is there, all crowding around the shuttle bay just in order to welcome him back.

They surround him from all sides when he disembarks finally, voices loud and eager, filling him in on everything he's missed and telling him that they hope he'll never be away for this long again.

Yang does his best to smile and joke and laugh and just try to pretend the best he can.

He manages to succeed for the most part and only his closest friends notice that something’s actually wrong.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Julian says, and bless his pure heart, he’s actually genuinely upset for Yang.

Julian had been the only one who, after finding out the real reason that Yang was choosing to stay on Heinessen, had supported him unconditionally and told him that he just wanted Yang to be happy, no matter what.

He places a cup of steaming red tea down before Yang as if they were still mentor and student and as if it hasn’t already been years since Julian and Yang had shared a home together during the war. It almost still feels like it’s the same as always, even though Julian is now a man in his own right, no longer the small, baby-faced boy that Yang had taken in.

Caselnes eyes Yang from over the top of his glasses and frowns. “You’re better off here with us anyway.”

Yang lowers his eyes at that, doing his best to offer a little smile, knowing that his senior has never been good at reassurance. Yang truly does appreciate the fact that Caselnes makes an attempt anyway.

Schonkopf, sitting pressed up again Yang on the long leather sofa, throws an arm around his shoulders in a show of solidarity. Yang tries to edge away a little in order to put a bit of space between them, but Schonkopf’s arm tightens instead and so he gives up, sinking bonelessly into the soft cushions.

“Good riddance,” Schonkopf mutters softly to himself when he thinks Yang isn’t listening. “He didn’t deserve you at all.”

Yang pretends he hears nothing, staring down at his hands which twist in his lap, feeling utterly foolish.

He’s the one who had chosen to leave, he’s the one who had chosen to return to Iserlohn where his fleet and family are. But now that he is here, surrounded by familiar faces and sights and sounds, Yang finally realises that in his heart, his home has long since become wherever Reuenthal is.

*

Yang realises, about two weeks after his return, that Schonkopf’s in love with him.

“Admiral,” Schonkopf says, pushing away from where he’s been leaning against the wall outside Yang’s office for heavens knows how long. “Are you done for the night?”

Yang looks at him, really looks, and sees the soft, besotted expression in those hazel eyes that he had once been used to seeing when he looked in the mirror back on Heinessen.

“General,” he nods and does his best to disengage, to avoid this unexpected entanglement as best as he can. He brushes past without saying anything else, heading towards his personal quarters and hoping that Schonkopf will take a hint.

Schonkopf doesn’t, of course, because he’s as stubborn as a hunting hound when his nose is on the scent. He keeps his strides short enough that he’s always just half a step behind, politely dogging Yang’s footsteps.

When they reach Yang’s room and he inputs his passcode, the door sliding open, Yang hesitates, turning to glance at his tall shadow, who stops half a step too late, suddenly too close.

Yang swallows but stands his ground, looking up. “Did you need something from me, General?”

The air between suddenly grows tense and Yang, in a rare show of self-preservation, turns on his heel to duck into his room.

However, the moment he turns his back, whatever has been keeping Schonkopf contained seems to snap. He’s in front of Yang with one long step, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him back around, crowding him back into his room easily with his height before pinning Yang up against the far wall of his own entrance hall.

Yang lets him, eyes lowered and not offering any resistance at all. He leans against the wall, feeling the coldness of it slowly creeping through the layers of his uniform to chill his back.

“Admiral,” Schonkopf says, voice rough and not a little desperate, fingers beneath Yang’s chin, tilting it upwards towards himself. “Yang. Please, look at me.”

Yang raises his eyes obediently with the touch, blinking up at Schonkopf without much of an expression.

He sees the kiss coming and he closes his eyes, letting Schonkopf have his way without objection.

At first, his body reacts automatically, lips parting as he presses closer to the source of warmth. But soon enough, his unconscious mind realises that something’s wrong - the kiss is too gentle, too soft, and there’s the foreign sensation of the barest hint of stubble that scratches at his chin, and those hands on him are curled around his shoulder lightly, not holding around his hips or sliding down even lower.

Yang pushes Schonkopf away suddenly, feeling sickened with himself. He wipes his mouth with the back of a hand and turns away.

“Sorry, I can’t -”

Schonkopf grabs him by the wrist and this time, his fingers are circled tight enough to bruise. He turns Yang around to face him again and he looks both angry and devastated.

“Why, Yang? Why can’t you forget him?” he demands, pulling Yang back into his arms and holding him there, pressed against his chest. “What does he have that I don’t?”

The last is spoken right next to Yang’s ear, Schonkopf bracing his forehead against Yang’s shoulder.

Yang raises his hands and hesitates for a second before he steels his heart and pushes him away for the second time in minutes. This time, Schonkopf lets him go entirely, backing away until he’s completely out of reach, giving Yang back his space.

Another silence falls before Schonkopf’s shoulders hunch and he inhales deeply and looks away.

“I’m sorry, Admiral,” he says, rubbing a hand across his face. “I didn’t mean to -”

Yang shakes his head, cutting off the apology that he doesn't want or need to hear right now.

“It’s fine, General,” he says and even manages a tiny smile. “Go on, return to your rooms, please.”

Schonkopf accepts the dismissal without complaint, turning and leaving without another word.

Yang waits until the door has closed once more before he lets himself slide slowly down to the floor, back still braced against the wall where he had been standing. He presses his face against his knees, letting the thick material of his uniform trousers soak up the tears that suddenly escape unbidden.

“ - my heart,” he whispers into the dark, lonely night, answering the question Schonkopf had asked before on what Reuenthal had that Schonkopf himself didn’t.

“He has my heart.”

*

Schonkopf starts courting him, for the lack of a better word, in earnest from then onwards.

He gives Yang roses some days, so freshly picked that the morning dew is still sparkling on blood-red petals. Other times he’s just there, lurking just on the edges of Yang’s personal space, helping with whatever he can.

Schonkopf starts bringing Yang lunch when he buries himself in his office and the subsequent paperwork, sorting through six months of backlog. He takes him out to dinner at night or invites Yang back to his rooms with an offer to cook for him. Yang never takes him up on the latter, still wary of being alone with him after the last time.

However, apart from gentle touches, on his arm and shoulder, and the one time he reaches out and holds Yang’s hand for a full ten seconds before Yang gets uncomfortable enough to pull it back, tucking it into his pocket instead, Schonkopf has been a consummate gentleman, not pushing Yang a single millimeter beyond whatever he is capable of offering.

“What are you doing, Yang?” Caselnes asks him one day after he witnesses Schonkopf brushing a strand of Yang’s messy hair away from his face before he leaves Yang’s office, his expression terrifyingly soft and gentle.

Yang glances back at him before going back to his report. “What do you mean?”

“Are you leading him on? Anyone with eyes can see that he’s in love with you,” Caselnes tells him, blunt as always. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Yang’s pen stops its rapid scratch across the page and he throws it down in a fit of sudden anger, glaring up at Caselnes even as his pen clatters across the desk and then onto the floor.

“I don’t,” he says, tone low and furious in a way that he hasn’t let himself be in a long time. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m even here when -”

Yang cuts himself off and swallows, breaths coming a little harshly, eyes bright with what might be unshed tears. Caselnes is the one who ends up looking away first this time.

The silence between them falls a little uncomfortably, broken only by the light beep of an incoming communication.

Yang turns and presses the button to accept the call.

Julian, dressed in full military dress whites salutes at both of them, eyes worried. “Admiral Yang, Admiral Caselnes. Three Imperial Flagships have requested permission to dock at Iserlohn.”

It’s only then that Yang belatedly remembers that there had indeed been a communication from the Lohengramm’s adjutant noting that three Imperial admirals would be arriving a week early to Iserlohn to represent his Majesty at the annual summit between the Empire and Neue-Lands.

He’s just about to grant permission for them to dock when a smaller window opens up beneath Julian, a live feed from the satellites that surround the Fortress and suddenly the words end up choking in his throat.

Like Julian said, there are three flagships at the front of three relatively small fleets, all hovering well within the range of Thor’s Hammer. And, at the front and center of them all is the familiar sleek grey hull of the Tristan, Reuenthal’s flagship.

*

“We could fire the Hammer,” Schonkopf mutters to Caselnes, only half in jest, lounging against the far wall of the shuttle bay with his arms crossed, waiting impatiently for their guests.

Although Yang stands right next to him, he can barely hear those words clearly, ears buzzing with static and mind overrun by quicksilver thoughts and second guesses. He’s about half a second away from stressing himself into a panic, twisting his beret tightly in his fingers, when Schonkopf’s hand falls onto his hair, messing up the strands even more.

“Hey,” he says and he smiles, gentle and soft.

Schonkopf tugs Yang’s beret from where it’s clutched tight and shakes out the material a little before he places it back onto Yang’s hair.

“It’ll be okay,” he says with conviction and Yang suddenly feels so guilty.

He knows that he’ll never be able to repay Schonkopf’s kindness, he knows that he’ll never be able to reach out and love him like he should, but Yang wishes -

Schonkopf chooses this moment to lean in as if understanding Yang’s anguish. He presses a kiss against Yang’s forehead and then his cheek, one hand curling gently around his waist.

“It’ll be okay,” he repeats softly when Yang does nothing more than look up at him, eyes wide. “You have me remember.”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from behind interrupting the moment even as Caselnes grabs the back of Yang’s uniform discretely and pulls him apart from Schonkopf.

Recognising the voice, dread swims in Yang’s belly as he jerks around, looking up to meet the impassive gaze of Reuenthal, who stands before him, tall and proud, less than a meter away.

He looks more or less the same as the last time Yang had seen him, but he’s much colder, eyes icy as he sweeps them over Yang from head to toe almost mockingly before he inclines his head just a fraction.

“Admiral,” he says eventually, not even a single inflection in his deep voice before he brushes by without any further acknowledgment.

Lutz and Mecklinger, the other two admirals who are accompanying him this trip, both cast an unreadable look towards Yang before they’re gone as well, following Reuenthal closely.

*

Iserlohn isn’t that big of a Fortress, but Yang manages to avoid Reuenthal for three entire days after the latter lands on Iserlohn.

Apart from the two official meetings, one to introduce the imperial admirals to the rest of the fleet, and the other to finalise the time and location of the upcoming summit, Yang thankfully has not seen Reuenthal at all.

Even during both those meetings, Reuenthal hadn’t even so much as glanced at Yang, beyond a short nod of greeting when he entered the room, instead choosing to focus his attention on Caselnes, Murai and the other senior officers present.

After the second time, Yang had started taking to the less common hallways to get around, unable to bear the feeling of coming face to face with Reuenthal and being brushed off so casually once more.

It’s a couple of hours after lunch and he’s finally deemed it safe to make his way slowly through one of the back passages from his office towards the communal dining hall when he spots Reuenthal turning the corner before him.

He turns tail to run on instinct, not wanting the last of his treasured memories to be tainted by the coldness and distance that he knows that Reuenthal will inevitably show him.

He gets barely two steps before a warm hand catches his wrist and stops him in his tracks. Yang retaliates, eyes wild, trying to pull himself away.

“Please,” he says, and he's not too ashamed to beg, looking anywhere but at Reuenthal. “Just let me go. I’ll stay out of your way, I promise. So please -”

“Yang,” Reuenthal murmurs and he says his name in such an achingly familiar way that Yang can’t help but blink hard, willing away his useless tears.

“I -” Yang starts and doesn’t have a chance to say anything else before Reuenthal’s lips are on his.

The kiss is harsh, Reuenthal pushing him back against a wall and steps in, caging him between his arms. He kisses Yang with none of the finesse Yang knows he has, an almost brutal tangle of lips and teeth and tongue.

Yang breaks away panting after a few moments, needing air and touches his fingers to his lips which feel hot and swollen. Reuenthal stares down at him and there’s a glint of something close to desperation in his beautiful dual coloured eyes.

He lifts his hand and curls it around Yang’s cheek, leaning in close to skim his lips over the side of Yang’s neck. His other hand cages Yang against the wall, and if he is utterly honest with himself, Yang does not mind their sudden closeness one whit.

“I’m sorry,” Reuenthal says, softly, rubbing his thumb across the swell of Yang’s bottom lip gently. “I tried to respect your choice, I really did, but I can’t step aside and let you go.”

Yang’s hands clench at his sides and his eyes widen as the implication of Reuenthal’s words slowly starts to sink in.

Before he can open his mouth to ask though, Reuenthal moves, placing his hand on the door sensor next to them, and he wastes no time in picking Yang up, throwing him over his shoulder in an easy display of strength even as the door slides open to show a generic office, laid out with a simple table and a low sofa. Reuenthal strides into the room, letting the door shut silently behind him and he puts Yang down gently, settling him into the seat of the sofa before he joins him, tangling their legs together and bracing his arms on either side of Yang’s head.

Reuenthal’s weight presses him down against the slightly dusty surface, and Yang’s heart races as he just stares up at those handsome features. Reuenthal’s hands are already busy with Yang’s jacket and pants, the former thrown carelessly to the floor and the latter jerked down, along with his underwear until Yang is effectively naked except for his shirt.

“Forgive me,” Reuenthal murmurs even as he leans in to kiss Yang again, hands going to his own clothes, letting his cloak drop and unbuckling his uniform belt, shrugging his black jacket off his shoulders in one smooth move and suddenly they’re pressed together skin against skin.

“But I can’t let you go again.”

*

Yang is a mess, fingers clenched in Reuenthal’s hair as he takes him into his mouth, his tongue flicking teasingly over the leaking slit over the top again and again until Yang weakens enough to beg.

“Please," he forces out, voice breathy and soft in the still air.

Reuenthal draws back a little, making Yang whimper and he leans up again, kissing Yang slow and thoroughly, letting him taste himself on Reuenthal’s tongue.

He’s flipped in one easy motion, with the other man settling his hands on Yang’s waist and leaning back against the armrest of the sofa, one foot braced against the floor for balance. This leaves Yang sitting on top of Reuenthal’s thighs, keeping his balance with one hand on the back of the sofa, the other splayed across Reuenthal’s chest.

“If you want it, you’re going to have to work for it,” Reuenthal tells him, wrapping one hand around them both easily, long fingers stroking up and down almost lazily, calluses rough against the sensitive skin.

Yang can't help the way his hips jerk forward instinctively as he swallows another whimper, suddenly remembering with vivid detail the feel of Reuenthal buried inside him, hot and thick.

Reuenthal lets go, freeing up both of his hands to stroke over Yang’s sides, hands sliding down to squeeze his bottom a little, using it to pull Yang forward.

“I’ll help you out this time,” Reuenthal says generously, offering him his fingers. “Open up.”

Yang takes the hint after a blinking at him blankly for a couple of seconds, feeling another wave of heat flush across his already burning face. Nevertheless, he opens his mouth obediently for Reuenthal to slide his fingers in, making sure to thoroughly wet them, licking and sucking over the long digits with his tongue.

“Good boy,” Reuenthal murmurs, eyes dark and pleased when he takes his hand back, bracing his own knees apart in order to spread Yang’s thighs open.

He reaches down with the spit-slick digits and slides his fingers into Yang and stretches him open slowly.

Yang makes a soft low noise of surprise and pleasure when Reuenthal buries his fingers deep and crooks them, pressing against the place where Yang is most sensitive.

“Oskar.”

Yang can’t help the way the name rolls off his tongue, effortless and easy, caught between a moan and a whimper.

“How much do you want me?” Reuenthal asks, moving his wrist slow, pulling his fingers almost completely out and then sliding them back in deep.

Yang falls mute, unable to form even a single word. Instead, he clutches at Reuenthal’s shoulders, his own legs shaking from the effort of keeping his body upright.

Reuenthal takes pity on him after a minute or two, withdrawing his fingers. He helps steady Yang’s hips instead, guiding him to take Reuenthal’s full length in one long, slow slide.

Yang can’t help the muffled moan when he’s finally seated, full to almost bursting. Reuenthal isn’t much better off, sweat gathering at his temples and his eyes a little hazy when he slides his palms over Yang’s chest and then back to settle on his hips, lifting him a little in a silent instruction for him to move.

Yang obeys, mouth falling open as he loses all control, unable to stop the loud moans of pleasure and breathy gasps of Reuenthal’s name when the other man fucks his hips up into him with perfect precision, meeting his downwards grind in a way that makes Yang throw his head back, spine arching and body going taut.

He climaxes, shuddering as he spills between their bodies. Reuenthal follows him shortly after, hands tightening around his hips enough to make Yang wince even as he empties himself into Yang’s slick heat.

It’s selfish Yang knows, breathing heavily in the aftermath, but he suddenly wants Reuenthal to mark him and wants the bruises on his hips in the shape of Reuenthal’s hands so that Yang can have something tangible to hold onto if only for a few fleeting days.

He doesn’t even realise that he’s crying until Reuenthal slides out from him hurriedly, leaning forward and brushing his fingers across Yang’s eyes gently, wiping away the first few tears. He leans in close then, kissing away the rest that fall, catching them before they scatter down his cheeks.

There’s silence for a moment, Reuenthal looking regretful and pulling away slightly. Yang can’t help the way he panics a little when this happens, hands fisted by his sides as he trembles.

However, Reuenthal only leans down in order to pick up his cloak from where it had fallen against the back of the sofa. He moves back forward to throw the heavy, thick material around Yang’s shoulders, covering up his nakedness and stopping the chill from setting in.

“I’m a selfish person, Yang,” Reuenthal tells him lowly afterward, stroking a hand softly through Yang’s hair soothingly as if comforting a wary, skittish animal. “I know that you’re happy here and that this doesn’t mean anything to you but -”

Reuenthal leans in and kisses him, on the lips this time and it’s soft and gentle and chaste, nothing more than a brush of his lips against Yang’s. “I’m in love with you.”

“I love you,” he repeats again and raises Yang’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it, head bowed before Yang, eyes lowered and looking almost humble. “And I wish I knew how to prove it to you.”

There’s a moment when Yang has to remind himself to breathe, his heartbeat fluttering in his chest. He swallows and takes a deep breath, waiting until Reuenthal looks up once more and he meets that mismatched gaze straight on.

“Stay then,” Yang says, sounding braver than whatever he is actually feeling in that moment, hands clenched together beneath the thick material of the cloak to stop them from shaking.

There’s the barest hint of hope that flickers across Reuenthal’s face. “Yang, do you -”

Yang exhales and straightens, and this time, he is the one reaching out and circling his arms around Reuenthal’s chest, pressing himself close, taking hold of what he wanted with his own hands.

“I love you too,” Yang murmurs into the warm skin of his shoulder, a burden lifted from his heart as he finally speaks his confession out loud. Reuenthal gathers him close, cloak and all, pressing a gentle kiss against his messy hair and Yang lets himself relax into the safety of his arms.

“So please,” Yang says, tilting his head up to touch his lips against Reuenthal’s once more. “Just stay with me.”

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [here on tumblr](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/) :D
> 
> i enjoy screaming loudly at everything & take prompts <3


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